Acton's Feud eBook

“My pet” bolted and came back with the
year-old programme of the Corker’s fags.

“Pass the abomination this way, Rogers.
Gentlemen,” said Grim, with intense scorn, “those
unspeakable Corker asses started off with a prologue.”

“We must go one better—­eh, you fellows?”
said Rogers.

“Rather!” they all shrieked.

“I vote,” said young Cherry, “that
we lead off with an epilogue. That will leave
’em standing.”

“Hear, hear!” said Fruity.

“Who’ll second that?” said Grim.

“I will,” said Rogers, cheerfully.

“Then do it, you ass,” said the chairman.

“I second,” said Rogers, hurriedly, “and
you needn’t be so beastly strict, Grim.”

“Gentlemen, the proposal before the meeting
is that we lead off with an epilogue. Item number
one on the programme to be ‘An Epilogue.’
Those in favour signify. Carried unanimously.”

“I say, Grim, what is an epilogue, anyhow?”
said a voice.

“Oh, I say,” said the chairman, “pass
that young ignoramus this way. Lamb, do you mean
to say you don’t know what an epilogue is?”

“No, I don’t.”

“This is sickening,” said Grim, with disgust.
“A fellow in Biffen’s not know what an
epilogue is! Tell him, Fruity,” he added,
with pathetic vexation.

“He asked you,” said Cherry, hurriedly.

“I’m the chairman,” said Grim, in
a wax, but with great relief. “Explain
away, Fruity!”

“Oh, every first-class concert starts with one,”
he said vaguely.

“See now, Lamb?”

Lamb professed himself satisfied, but he did not appear
absolutely blinded by the light either.

“Anyhow,” said Wilson, “Fruity will
see to that. I propose he does.”

“I second it,” said Lamb, viciously, whereupon
Cherry kicked the seconder on the shins, for he did
not exactly thirst for that honour. “I’m
an ass,” he said to himself; “but, anyhow,
I’ll look up what the blessed word does mean,
and try to do it.”

“I see,” said Grim, “they’ve
got a poem on ‘Cock House’ for number two.
That seems all right, eh?”

“Oh yes; it’s always done.”

“Well, we’ll have one too, eh? Who’s
got to do the poetry, though? Somebody propose
somebody”—­thereupon every fag proposed
his chiefest enemy, and the battles raged along the
line. “And you call yourselves gentlemen!”
said Grim in disgust—­he had been overlooked
for the time being.

“I propose Sharpe,” said Wilson, dusting
himself. “He does no end swell construes
from ‘Ovid.’”